


Used Matches

by theleaveswant



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Aunt/Nephew Incest, F/M, Implied Relationships, Morning After, No Smut, One Night Stands, Pre-Series, Smoking, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 14:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1691234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/theleaveswant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No,” he says clearly, jabbing his cigarette toward the stranger to make the point. “You're not.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Used Matches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatyourefuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatyourefuse/gifts).



> This swerved a bit away from the prompt of "interrupted while having a 'friend' over", but Shelbys. Not sure when this takes place--pre-series but could be either pre- or post-war (if it's pre- that might mean Tommy's underage).

“The fuck are you still doing here?” Tommy mumbles around his first cigarette of the day. He shakes out the match with which he's just lit it and sends the heat of anger with it, so when he turns his gaze on the stranger in the kitchen his eyes are cold as ice-caked glass.

The stranger looks up, startled, from where he's feeding tinder—too much, by the look of it—into the stove to warm the kettle. His face slides into a reassuring smile. “Just making a cup of tea, son. Won't be a minute.”

'Son'. Tommy's lip twitches. The cunt in his kitchen, with his shirt untucked and braces down, whistling cheerfully as he overstuffs his stove, can't be more than five years older than he is. “No,” he says clearly, jabbing his cigarette toward the stranger to make the point. “You're not.”

The stranger looks again, looks properly, and his smile freezes. “Easy there, mate. Didn't mean to cause no trouble.”

“You've the count of ten to grab your boots and get out of here. One.”

He's gone by eight. Tommy picks up the burbling kettle and pours, dresses her tea the way she likes it, and carries it to her bedside.

She stirs when he enters the room. “Tommy?” she murmurs, and her voice is rough.

“He's gone,” Tommy says. He sets cup and saucer down top of her chest of drawers. She sighs and catches his hand, drops a kiss on his knuckles and lets him go.

“Good lad.”


End file.
